


Tempest

by LadyRoxie



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, First Time, Makeup Sex, Phryne gets mad and Jack gets laid, Resolved ST, office smut, ranting and ravishing, union suit porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRoxie/pseuds/LadyRoxie
Summary: When Phryne's evening doesn't go as planned, she takes it out on Jack. Winning all around?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have been trying diligenly to work on Other Projects, but have shamelessly come back to these beautiful fools, and a cathartic whatever-this-is. I blame recent events in politics. I hope it's as satisfying to read... At least someone's angst is ending well ;)

_How angerly I taught my brow to frown,_  
_When inward joy enforced my heart to smile!_  
The Two Gentlemen of Verona 

How she knew to find him still at the station, bleary-eyed in shirtsleeves, umpteenth cup of tea cold beside him, he didn't know. Perhaps it was another one of her remarkable abilities, like those of a homing pigeon or a bat.

He heard her before he saw her, which was usual, though even for her, that much vigour at this hour of the night was decidedly less so. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he glanced at the clock on his wall; half two. God he was exhausted. The case he and Collins had wrapped up that afternoon had been a logistical nightmare, and the paperwork was living up to its promise of being hell. But as tomorrow was Jack's day off, he'd been determined to slog through it before he left. 

Attempting to refocus his eyes on his frosted glass door, Jack frowned as the walls shook slightly with the force of the front door to the station slamming. Sharp heels rang out on the tile floor and didn't pause to barrel through the half-gate in the foyer. 

He braced himself, wondering briefly if he should don his suit jacket, which was currently hanging beside his trench by the door.  
Just then, his door flew open and a dervish of lilac and smoke grey feathers swirled into his office, the beads on her dress sounding like crackling lightning. 

Before he could open his mouth, she'd thrown open his barrister's bookcase, and retrieved the bottle of decent whiskey he kept there, along with two chipped tumblers. The glasses clinked together ominously as she spun to deposit them on the desk, and Jack winced, visions of broken glass amid disarrayed paperwork flitting before his eyes.

Without looking at him, Phryne slammed the bottle on the desk and slammed the glasses down beside it. She popped the cork out with a gloved fist and poured at least four fingers' worth into one glass before throwing herself into a chair. 

“I'm angry with you, Jack Robinson.”

Jack took a deep breath and looked at her. 

“You're not going to pour me any?”

“NO. First of all, I don't know how much _you_ need tonight, but this is just a start for me.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Jack said dryly with a hint of a smile. It was clear that Phryne had enjoyed several drinks before she appeared at his door, though he could see she wasn't more than tipsy.

“Shut up. And secondly, I don't feel like being nice to you.” Phryne furrowed her brow, flung back the skirt of her coat, and propped her dark purple heels on the corner of Jack's desk.

“I see.” Jack gave a tilt of his head, then leaned forward and poured himself a reasonable measure of whiskey. He tried to recall a comment or an incident recently that might have put him in Phryne's sight lines, but came up blank. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“ _No_.”

There was silence for several minutes as Jack sipped his drink, and Phryne stared at hers looking mutinous. 

He thought about asking her to leave, and let him finish up his paperwork, but he found that even this somewhat odd standoff with her was preferable to that, so he held his tongue and shuffled his papers into neat stacks.

When he had only a mouthful left in his glass, he swirled it slowly, and leaned back in his chair. 

“You're cross.”

“ _Yes_.” 

“With me.”

“Yes, _Jack_ , with you.” His name came out like a dart. 

“Beg your pardon, Miss Fisher, but do you think you might share the reasons for your displeasure? As welcome a break in my otherwise dismal evening as this is, it is late, and I'm tired. Perhaps we can continue this... _detente_ tomorrow? I'm sure there dark corners at any number of questionable establishments you're familiar with that might be more suitable for quiet fuming.”

“Tired? You're tired? Really! Well forgive me, _Inspector_. I wouldn't want to disrupt your delicate, dour equilibrium! And for your information, I was having a perfectly lovely night, _elsewhere_ , before I came here. And you're right, it was delightfully disreputable and full of lovely, lovely men.”

“I see.” said Jack, though of course, he didn't. “And now you're here.”

Phryne shot him a a withering glare, meeting his eyes for the first time since she'd arrived, before knocking back her drink.

“Just checking, no one was murdered, then?” Jack tried to hide the slight amusement in his voice, but was mostly unsuccessful.

“Jack Robinson, this is not a joke!” Phryne slammed her empty glass down on the desk, scattering a tall pile of papers to the floor.

“I'm sorry, Phryne.” Jack set his own glass down and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and palms open in acquiescence. “Look, will you just talk to me? Please?”

Phryne stared at him a second, then tossed her head and threw up her hands, nearly dislodging her elaborate lavender feather-and-rhinestone headpiece. She sprang to her feet and strode to the door, and for a moment Jack thought she was going to leave. 

Instead, she paused, her back to him, and traced her fingers over the backwards letters on the glass. When she spoke, her voice was soft. 

“I am angry with you, Jack Robinson, Detective Inspector.” 

“I see that.” Jack reached for the right thing to say, but as was so often the case with her, the right thing didn't present itself, so he spoke the true thing instead. 

“I would like to know why, because I can't think of what I've done. And I don't like being at odds with you, it turns out.”

She huffed a small laugh at the glass, then drew a plum-gloved finger through the fog.

“You're so bloody noble you couldn't guess if you tried, Jack.”

“Then tell me. Phryne, talk to me.”

She turned, and for the first time that evening, really looked at him. Her face was drawn, and her eye makeup was slightly smudged, though it made her no less alluring. Jack was caught again at how beautiful she was, and especially in moments when she wasn't so much the Honourable Miss Fisher, but just Phryne. 

He held up the bottle – a peace offering – and when she lowered her eyes and nodded, poured them each another glass. Phryne stayed where she was, though, her eyes fixed on her tumbler from across the room, but staring straight through it.

“I was at the Green Mill tonight.”

Jack nodded, waiting.

Phryne started plucking off her gloves and walked towards her chair.

“I wanted a night of drinking and dancing... and I very much wanted to bring someone home.”

Jack felt a punch to his chest, and stared at the hand wrapped around his tumbler. He knew this wasn't out of the ordinary for her, had no reason to expect anything otherwise. Yet it was a part of her life he found increasingly difficult to stomach. He didn't resent her taking lovers; he resented himself not being one of them. Being, if he was honest, the only one. But that was beyond considering, and so he generally tried to push the whole issue from his mind. Lately, he'd been less and less successful.

Confronted with it now, with Phryne herself close enough that her perfume was making his skin tingle, was a kind of torture, but it was his alone to bear. 

“Alright,” he said, his voice not quite his own.

“It _is_ alright, Jack,” Phryne said, her chin tilting up and her voice rising. “What I do, where I do it, and with whom, it is alright and it is entirely my decision.”

“Phryne, I've never challenged that. Never, and I won't. I don't for a moment believe I, or anyone else, has the right to challenge that. Do you think that I-”

“That's not the problem, Jack!” She spun around and paced back to the door. “I know that. I know you. And that's just the problem, isn't it?” She turned and Jack was surprised to see tears gathering in her eyes.

“Tonight, I wanted someone. I wanted fun and sex and to feel deliciously free. I wanted to feel desired and thrilled and sated...” She trailed off, picking at a thread on one of her gloves. 

Jack felt the heat creeping up his chest and neck, and clenched his jaw. This was too much. He knew he had no right to expect anything from her. She'd only ever been clear, with him and everyone else, about what she wanted and how she meant to live her life. And on that, they were just too different. He couldn’t be one in a string, and she couldn't be tied down. It was an impasse, and he was working, sometimes to exhaustion, on accepting that. But this, having his face pressed into the truth of her desires, was threatening to break him. 

“Miss Fisher, I-”

“No, Jack, please... Please let me finish.” She licked her lips, struggling to find the words. “I couldn't.”

He frowned.

“Couldn't what?”

“All of it. I couldn't. Well I danced, I drank, I flirted, I entertained the proposals of no fewer than three absolutely _beautiful_ young men... And I left.”

“Miss Fisher, I don't understand, but I don't think I can help you. It's just... It's more than I can do.” Jack hated that his voice betrayed him with all the roughness he wanted to keep from her. He had to end this and get out of here.

“You're not understanding, Jack. I left, I left alone, because they weren't you.”

Jack didn't breathe. He felt his heart beat and saw her eyes, blue amid the kohl, sad and hopeful. 

“What did you say?”

She tilted her head. “You heard me. I left because none of them was you.” She stood where she was, halfway between the desk and the door, and for a moment, a tiny part of him remarked how odd that was; she was always so close, filling all of his senses. Now he was more than an arms length from her, and didn't know if he needed her gone or in his arms. 

“Phryne...” His voice was raw and gravelly. “You can't just... You can't come in here and say that. It... I can't bear it.” Jack pushed himself back from his desk and smoothed his palms down his thighs. He didn't meet her gaze.

“Well what about me?” She was in motion again, and he felt the breeze of her furs as she threw her arms up.

“What about me, Jack? I didn't plan it, I didn't _want_ to be thinking about you! I didn't want to be comparing every man – every voice, every bloody tilt of his head, every smile – to yours! And I might have even have been able to ignore it, too, if I hadn't had to _talk_ to any of them! But I did, and dammit Jack Robinson, all I wanted to hear was you! You and that voice and your stupid _sense_ and your stupid bloody beautiful mind and your stupid Rilke. So what am I supposed to do now?”

She was facing him, her fascinator askew, her gloves tossed on the desk, her hands balled at her sides. The tears that had been threatening were falling down her cheeks, and all he wanted to do was wipe them away.

He knew his face showed every single emotion he was feeling. Gone were whatever sophisticated skills he wielded as a Senior Detective Inspector to remain impassive, to keep his own emotions in check; replaced with all the artless candour of a man very much in love.

He swallowed, watching her chest rise and fall. He ached to take her into his arms, so he spoke slowly in case part of him sabotaged sensibility and did just that.

“I don't know. I don't know what we do.” He paused. “I can't be what you want, Phryne. I can't be one of many. It would kill me.”

“And what about me, Jack? You've never even asked me what I want. Never even given me the chance to tell you!”

“Did I need to?” Jack was taken aback by the anger in his own voice. “What the hell was tonight then? You just finished telling me, in no uncertain terms, that you wanted MEN. Lots of men! What the hell else am I supposed to think?”

“I don't know!” she shouted. “I don't know what this is, or how to do it!”

“Phryne you barge in here angry at me for what, being unattainable? I'm right here! I've been right here for months! If you wanted that, you wouldn't be angry! I'm sorry if I've somehow ruined your evening's exploits, but I honestly don't see how this has very much to do with me at all! So what's say we pretend this conversation,” he spat the word with irony, “never happened, and carry on just as we have been.”

Jack pulled himself forward and went about re-stacking his papers, unseeing, hoping she didn't notice the tremble in his hands. 

“What if I don't want to?” Phryne's voice was quiet.

“Well, I'm sure you can find another member of the constabulary to overrun.”

“No... What if I don't want another one? What if,” she said, reaching down, her fingers brushing the back of his hand. “What if I just want you?”

Jack stilled, but kept his eyes on his desk.

“You don't, Phryne. You don't want me. Go home.”

She withdrew her hand, and Jack clenched his jaw against the wave of panic that flowed over him.

Without a word, she gathered her gloves and walked to the office door. Jack silently begged her to leave, feeling the breakdown he knew was coming, and knew he wouldn't be able to hide. 

But she paused, then spun around, her face full of life and passion and righteous indignation.

“No! No I won't 'go home', and I won't pretend this never happened. Because it did, and it happened to me, Jack Robinson, and it was the last thing I wanted to happen, or expected, and really, normally, I'm very good at avoiding this sort of thing, so you can see why it was such a shock! But the fact is, I don’t _want_ anyone else! I don't want anyone else to solve murders with, and have nightcaps with and I don't want anyone else to argue with about procedure and not scaling buildings in high heels. And for some ridiculous reason, I don't want anyone else to go to bed with! So don't you _dare_ tell me to go home, Jack, because I won't do it. I won't forget about this and I won't be quiet and I won't let it go. It turns out I'm terrifically in love with you, and as it's been a while, and well, really never, actually, and I might need just a little time to figure it out! But the fact remains, and you're in this every bit as much as I am, Inspector, so don't you dare think about getting out of it!”

Jack stared at her, his mouth open, his eyes wide, his hands frozen in their work. Phryne stood before him with flashing eyes, as beautiful and unravelled as he'd ever seen her.

She loved him.

Well, that was unexpected.

And, perhaps because he couldn't think of what else to do, Jack started to laugh. It began as a thick coughing chuckle, and grew until he was breathless with it, tears streaming down his face, his deep laugh ringing through the station. At first Phryne looked horrified, but almost instantly she cracked a giggle, then a bubbling, rolling, belly laugh, and she was leaning on the desk beside him, gripping her sides and pleading for mercy.

As they started to come down, Jack swung his chair towards her, trapping her where she'd come to stand in her usual place on his side of the desk. He rolled forward so one knee was on either side of her legs, and she leaned back on the desk, catching her breath and wiping at her eyes. 

Jack's hands came to rest on her hips, and her breath caught for a whole new reason. 

“Could I ever be enough for you?” Phryne tried to speak lightly, but they both heard the fear and uncertainty in her voice.

“Enough? I thought you were the smarter one of us, Miss Fisher.” Jack ran his hands up her back, not missing the way she arched into his touch. “You're everything...” He struggled to find the words, realizing as he reached for them that he would never be able to take them back. “ _I do love nothing in the world so well as you_.”

Phryne reached out a hand to his cheek, feeling the evening's stubble, and running her thumb over his mouth.

“ _Is that not strange?_ ” she said with a gentle smile.

There was a look of pain in his eyes as he spoke.

“But I'm not sure it goes both ways, Phryne. I meant what I said. I can't be one of many, or even one of few. I'm sorr-”

She stopped him with a finger to his lips, and a tiny shake of her head. 

“Never, Jack. Not with you.”

“But what if-”

“Not with you.” Her hand lowered from his face to his throat, and she held his eyes as she began to loosen his tie.

Jack flexed his fingers and screwed his eyes shut, grasping at solid ground while feeling it crumble beneath his feet.

“Please, Phryne... don't tease. I... I can't...”

“None of this is teasing, Jack,” she said, stilling her hands. “I only want you. Please say I'm enough...”

Phryne's face was uncharacteristically vulnerable as she looked down into Jack's eyes. 

“ _I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest_.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Jack raised his hands so they were under her shoulders, and gently pulled her down sideways into his lap. She draped one arm around his neck, tracing the contours of his face with the fingers of her other hand. There, she thought, there was where the smiles he gave her lived, and there were the sanctioning scowls, and there, the beautiful dip above his top lip, there is where she wanted to taste... 

He was still for her fingers, even as he desperately tried to think of a reason to keep intact the one last thread that kept him from falling. (He knew it was futile, but this was a recent revelation, and he hadn't yet adjusted.) 

“What was that if not protest?” he whispered.

“Me,” she said simply, a world of love and apology in her voice.

He gave her a tiny sideways smile. Her ruby mouth was inches from his, and the need to kiss her was becoming a pulse so loud it was blocking his thoughts, replacing his heartbeat. She turned her head and he dipped his and when their lips met they barely touched. A breath, a feathered kiss, a bare and delicate anointing of each other. But the swell of desire he felt when he met her eyes as they pulled away shred that last thread into a thousand tiny specks and they disappeared. 

What happened next wasn't their first kiss, and now, not even their second, but it was so far beyond the tentative touches of new love as to be unrecognizable. How did she know that when she did indeed lick at his philtrum he would shudder against her? How did he know to hold her head in his large hand just firmly enough to make her feel she would be safe forever, and never held fast? How did he know to pour everything into his kiss, so that the room fell away and her body became nothing but spark and heat and light?

(She'd realize later, languid and replete on her bed, Jack dozing peacefully beside her, that of course, Jack Robinson always kissed like that.)

His hand reached in between the layers of feather and wool and silk and beads, even as his tongue continued to tease hers. Fingers closed over her hardened nipple, and she gasped into his mouth, shifting in his lap in an effort to feel friction where she wanted it. He was already hard and long against her hip and she moaned at the press of him.

“Oh god, Jack, I hope you weren't planning on a long slow courtship...” Phryne took his bottom lip between her teeth and pulled, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

“Too late,” he growled against her mouth, and felt her smile. “What do you call the last two years?”

He briefly caressed her decolletage with the backs of his fingers before tugging down her dress to expose one small, plump breast. His sharp indrawn breath had her clenching her thighs, and she knew the silk between her legs was wet. 

Jack ducked his head and took the rosy nipple in his mouth, rolling over it with his nimble tongue before taking it in his teeth.

Phryne's gasp and moan stiffened his cock to steel, and Jack was dimly aware he was about to lose all ability to think.

“The door...” he managed, “Lock the door...” His hands seemed not to get the message, as one continued to spear through her hair, finally dislodging the feathered clip, the other drew down from her breast to pull her hips toward him.

“Wait,” she panted, “Don't move...”

She stumbled off his lap, tossing her coat onto the guest chair as she passed, and slid the lock home on his door. The “snick” of the bolt aligned something in Jack's brain, and he knew there was no turning back.

He stood from his chair as Phryne stalked back to him, her hips swinging and her eyes dark. Her lipstick was smeared and he should have realized that a good portion of it was likely on him, but at that point, he wasn't sure Jack Robinson actually existed. He was still as stone, though every nerve in his body was flashing and firing, and he thought he might combust. 

He watched as her delicate fingers made short work of the trail of tiny buttons that ran from under her arm to her hip, swallowing thickly as the creamy skin of her side was exposed. By the time she was standing in front of him, his breathing was laboured and his eyes glassy and dark.

He brought his mouth down heavily on hers, clasping the back of her head and feeling the coolness of of her hair like fresh water on his heated palm. She returned the kiss with equal passion, thrusting her tongue into his mouth as she pressed her hips to his groin. She wound her arms around his waist and he broke the kiss to trail his lips down her throat to her clavicle, flicking his tongue into the hollow in the centre and grinding against her as she moaned. 

She had managed to untuck his shirt from his trousers and undo the buttons on his waistcoat before he realized what was happening.

“God, Phryne...” he panted, pulling back slightly to meet her eyes. 

“Yes, Jack, please yes...”

Jack reached down and gathered the heavy fabric of her gown, the clatter of the beads dampened by the pounding of his blood through his veins. He was all sensation; every touch, every lick, every gasp sending him deeper into a hot, wet place where nothing existed except Phryne. 

He raised the dress, letting the fabric gather in his hands, until he could pull it over her head. Turning to lay it on the chair, he groaned as he felt her hand squarely on the bulge in his trousers. He steadied himself for a moment with hand on the desk before reaching out for her. 

“Phryne... God... Oh my god you are so beautiful....”

Jack felt his cock shift and harden further as he trailed his hand down her chest to dust the porcelain skin of her breasts. The beading on the dress had been so heavy he hadn't been able to see how hard her nipples were, as pink and promising as rose buds. He raised both hands, cupping her breasts gently at first, then circling with his fingernails until the thumb and forefinger of each hand closed around her nipples, drawing them out and pinching just shy of painfully. 

Phryne's small wail had him gritting his teeth to stay in control, and he lunged forward, continuing to roll and squeeze at one breast while he suckled hard at the other. It was only when he felt her hand stroke his cock again that he straightened, cupping her bottom and pulling her hips to him to stop her hand.

She grinned wickedly and nipped at his jaw before kissing him deeply, and set about expertly unbuttoning his shirt and pushing his braces off his shoulders. 

“I need to feel you, Jack... All of you...”

He shucked off his waistcoat and shirt, not caring in the least when they landed at his feet in a heap. Suddenly his voice broke as he stuttered her name; she'd unbuttoned his trousers, and was palming his prominent erection through the soft flannel of his union suit. Her dangerous smile told him she knew exactly what she was doing to him, and he swore under his breath before batting away her hand.

“Wait... just wait...”

Jack bent to take off his shoes and socks, kicking away his trousers before returning to her. 

She was nothing short of glorious. Breasts heaving, mouth wet and curled into a siren's smile, standing inches from him in blush pink tap pants, her long legs encased in ivory silk. He fingered the satin and lace garter belt that held up her stockings, eyeing her with a tilted grin, then moved his hand upwards to the tie on her knickers.

“Leave the stockings...” he breathed, his big fingers pulling gently on the silk thread. 

She nodded. 

“You can leave... your watch, Jack,” Phryne whispered, leaning forward and taking his earlobe into her mouth. 

He felt her grin against his ear as she saw his cock pulse and swell inside the flannel.

“You first,” he rumbled. He slipped two fingers from each hand into the sides of her knickers, slowly pulling the drawstring open, widening the waist. Her fingers on his neck, toying with his ears and the short hairs at the back of his head threatened to derail him, but he doubled his efforts to stay in control. When the waist was wide, he lowered the tap pants to the ground, his head coming close enough to her centre to become surrounded with the scent of her arousal. He saw a dark damp patch on the gusset of the silk, and had to grasp his cockhead in a hard grip through the fabric to prevent a sudden climax. He realized amidst the swirl of her familiar perfume, he knew her other scent just as well. 

“Oh fuck, Phryne, oh god...” He was almost in agony, he was so aroused, but he'd do anything to prolong it. It was the sweetest torture he'd ever known.

He looked up at her from his crouch on the floor and she didn't think she'd ever seen such pure devotion and candour in someone's eyes before. And rather than frightening her, it empowered her, and she felt like a goddess, like a queen.

“Up,” she whispered, and when he rose, she took his face in her hands and kissed him gently and deeply, trying to convey all the love and certainty she felt for him. He returned the kiss, and then for a few moments, they stayed locked together, hugging each other tightly, arms holding one to the other. 

Phryne broke the silence.

“Make love to me Jack.”

He unfolded his arms from her and took a step back. Starting at the top, he began unbuttoning the fastenings of his cream union suit. Phryne watched, barely able to hold herself still. One hand came up to toy with her breast, and the other moved to her mouth.

Jack unbuttoned to his navel and she was flooded with dampness knowing she would have her hands on that body. His chest was beautiful, muscular and trim, his prominent biceps rolling and flexing under the tight fabric. She sucked her index finger into her mouth and swirled her tongue around it, desperate to have something _inside_. 

Finally he shifted to pull the sleeves off his arms, and she saw the deep V of muscle pointing down to his groin. She whimpered, and he flashed her a grin before turning around.

“Jack Robinson, don't tease me!” she cried. She watched, her fingers plucking at her nipple as she sucked harder on her finger, as he finished undoing the buttons, and opened the two sides of the fabric, exposing himself to the other side of the room.

“Dammit Jack if you don't come over here right now, and naked, I'm finishing by myself.” 

His low chuckle was almost lost by her moan as he turned around and stepped out of the legs of the suit. 

He was astonishingly beautiful. His narrow waist led to magnificent thighs, carved and hard and strong, and his cock stood fiercely, thick and straight and so hard it was bumping against his stomach.

“Fuck, Phryne,” Jack blurted out, and she realized one hand had come to slip between her thighs, and was gently stroking herself back and forth as she shifted her hips. 

In a single move, Jack lunged forward and swept everything off his cluttered desk. Phryne gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as papers, folders and the whiskey and glasses went flying.

“Shhhhhh!” She gestured outside.

“Never mind... I told Stevens to take a kip in the cells while I was still here. And also _I don't care_ ,” Jack growled. 

“Oh my, there's hope for you, Inspector...”

Jack silenced her with a searing kiss, his hands gripped her hips. The feel of her, skin against skin, was overpowering. He needed to keep his head, needed to at least get inside her before he finished. 

It would be with surprisingly little sheepishness that Jack would look back later and marvel at the fact that in a few short minutes, he'd gone from never having done more than chastely kiss his wife in his office, to being completely naked with the sole intention of fucking Phryne Fisher on his desk. 

He released her, steadying himself with a deep breath as he strode to the coat tree and grabbed his trench. He spread it on the bare wood, smoothing the faded red lining before turning back to Phryne. Suddenly, she was pressed up against him, pushing him back firmly onto the desk, so he was braced on his elbows, legs dangling off the edge. She slapped a hand on each taut thigh, and slowly caressed his legs, leaning over him so her breasts nearly brushed his cock.

Jack watched, mesmerized. Her hands traced patterns over his skin, and everywhere she touched was on fire. When her fingernails grazed the insides of his upper thighs, he shuddered.

“Keep going...” he ground out.

She climbed onto the desk, lowering her mouth to his thighs, swirling her tongue in wide arcs. First one, then the other, switching and climbing higher with each pass. Beads of fluid were escaping him and is breath was coming in short, fast puffs. 

“You have to stop, Ph- Phryne...”

“Mmmm.... don't want to.”

“God, love, I c- can't....” He sat up and caught her face in his hands, and she met his eyes.

She had seen lust in the face of every man she'd ever bedded; she'd never have fucked them if she hadn't. And she had seen adoration, and pleasure, and sometimes, regrettably, even love, which was always – always – a sign to leave. 

But what she saw in Jack's eyes was something different altogether. There were, indeed, all of those things. But there was no possession, or demand, or selfishness; there was only him. More of him than she'd ever seen; maybe more of him than he'd ever shown. He was split open and laid bare for her, as vulnerable as if she'd had every weapon and he'd had none. And he _loved_ her. Loved _her_. And she felt suddenly as beautiful and benevolent and powerful and free as she'd ever felt.

She nodded, swallowing, and brought her mouth to his for a sweet, trembling kiss. 

They hovered there, Phryne poised like a panther over his body, her knees straddling his thighs, her bottom in the air in a prowl, the sound of their shallow breathing the only one in the room.

Jack drew himself up further, never leaving her eyes, and brought one hand between her legs. With a tentative finger, he stroked through her folds, unable to contain the deep groan that escaped him when he felt how impossibly wet she was for him. Two more fingers slipped alongside, and she arched her back at the ecstasy of having his fingers on her. 

“Look at me, Phryne,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. She did, biting her lower lip in a tight white line as he pressed first one, then two, then three fingers inside her. He curled his hand slightly so his thumb could roll and circle her clit, and she whimpered, first his name, then just parts of words. More. Yes.

 _Yes_.

She was braced forward on both hands, and he was grateful she couldn't reach him; as it was, it was all he could do to delay coming himself. Her hips started to tremble over her thighs, and he felt (oh god, from inside her he felt it) her muscles starting to seize. Then with a wail she broke over him, her head and arms collapsing onto his lap, her core pulsing around his fingers like war drums. He felt her fingernails dig into his hips, and squeezed his eyes shut with the effort of not coming as her mouth – open and keening and so warm – ghosted over his cock.

He shifted his hips back, and used his free arm to lift her torso as she continued to shudder and sigh through the aftershocks. As he withdrew his fingers from her core, he kissed her forehead repeatedly, and brushed the hair back from her face. 

“Alright?”

She stared at him, and he swore he could see the moment in her eyes when satiety turned into dark desire. She licked at his mouth, biting his lower lip, then holding her mouth just out of reach. 

Reaching down, she wrapped one hand around his length, stroking softly, readying him without sending him over. He watched, heavy-lidded as she wiggled her beautiful hips until she was poised just above him. Her thumb swirled around his tip, spreading the moisture she found, and she watched his eyes close.

“Eyes front, Jack,” she whispered, and when he was locked in her gaze, she sank onto him in a slow, glorious plunge. 

Jack had no words. No words, no sound, no thoughts, only the feeling of Phryne's tight, warm, so wet body wrapped around him. His fingers pressed into her hips hard enough to bruise, and his mouth opened in silent exaltation. She shuddered above him, her hands coming to rest on his chest, her breasts heaving with the effort of staying still.

When he didn't come instantly, she began to move, and soon she was using the lean muscles in her legs and arms to lever herself almost completely off him before curving back down, punctuating each hard thrust with a twist of her hips that had Jack seeing black at the edges of his vision. He met her thrust for thrust, realizing quickly that although this position gave her most control (he wasn't surprised she liked it, but was very surprised at how much he did) he could change her pace and pattern with his own movements. 

Jack tried to ground himself, telling himself he had to wait, just a little longer, but the feel of his cock buried inside her, the sight of her, wild and perfect above him, the awareness that this was real, and happening, was overtaking him. In a last frantic bid to take her with him, he twisted one hand underneath her, grounding out a string of expletives when he touched himself, slick and sliding in and out of her. Unable to stop himself, he held one large finger flush beside his cock, and almost shouted when she lowered herself to take all of him inside. 

“Oh fuck, Phryne, fuck fuck... come with me... come... COME.” He drew his finger forward and circled her clit furiously, rubbing it between his fingertips then batting at it with his nail. As sparks started to shoot into his vision he gave one final massive upward thrust and pinched her clit hard, and she shattered above him, her body arching backwards and her cry muffled against her fist. His own climax hit simultaneously, drawing a aching moan from his chest as he trembled and poured wave after wave inside her. 

He came to with her body curled on his chest, his cock still inside her, his breathing still strained. Her breath was ruffling the smattering of tawny hair on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, stroking the silky skin of her back.

“Oh my god” he said, his voice raw and rumbling.

She giggled. 

“Miss Fisher, are you giggling?”

“No, Inspector.”

“Mmm. I see.”

She giggled again.

“May I object?”

“Sorry,” she whispered, before bouncing with silent laughter again.

“This is extremely serious, you know.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he tensed, certain he'd just failed pillow talk completely. 

There was a pause.

“I know,” said Phryne, her voice soft.

“Phryne, I didn't mean...”

“Jack, you don't have to apologize. I came here tonight because it _is_ serious. More than anything.” Phryne turned her head to rest her chin on his chest. 

“And...?” Jack forgot his fingers at her back, and swallowed before meeting her eyes.

“And I think it's off to a brilliant start.” Her smile was warm and sweet and he thought for a moment that as spectacular as that had just been, this moment might just beat it.


End file.
